


this is how a heart breaks

by blackandwhiteandrose



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Modification, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Canon Queer Relationship, Character Growth, David Rose Deserves Nice Things, David Rose backstory, David Rose pre-SC, David's New York years, Early Relationship, First Meeting, Ikebana, M/M, Mentions of Alexis, Oral Sex, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Pre-Canon, Sebastien Raine is an Asshole, drug usage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26358562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackandwhiteandrose/pseuds/blackandwhiteandrose
Summary: Who is Sebastien Raine?“He’s a monster who uses people and leaves them for dead.” - David RoseThe story of “almost three months. Four, if you include the month that he was seeing other people.”
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Sebastien Raine/David Rose
Comments: 178
Kudos: 197





	1. various methods of escape

**Author's Note:**

> I heart David Rose. I am endlessly fascinated by the possibilities of what his life was like before arriving in Schitt's Creek.
> 
> This idea came from a conversation about how David & Sebastien's relationship started and what their time together was actually like.

_Fuck, the DJ is killing it tonight._

David Rose closes his eyes and tilts his head back, swaying under the hypnotic lights, his grip tight on the magnum of Armand de Brignac brut rosé in his right hand. Bringing the hefty bottle to his lips, his balance goes a little off-kilter. He’s surprised by how far back he’s leaning to get the bubbly pink drops to his tongue, he’d thought there was more left.

There is a mountain of discarded bottles on the table, none of them under $500, he’s sure. His friends have good taste, what can he say? And it’s his birthday, he can have what he wants. And if he wants to finish off this thousand dollar champagne, he’s going to. He looks around for someone to toast, noticing again, that the VIP area he’s paid for tonight is shockingly empty. 

How is his timing so off? He goes to the dance floor to join everyone and looks back and sees the booths he’s reserved are full, drinks flowing as everyone laughs. He gets back to partake in the revelry and suddenly they’ve all returned to the crowded space outside VIP, a crush of bodies on the sticky black tiles, undulating against each other to the bone-rattling bass beats.

He drops back onto the plush seat of the booth and scans the cavernous space of the club. The people are just this side of blurry, but he recognizes many of them, even through his inebriated haze. Probably half of the patrons had stumbled up to the VIP area, shouting a perfunctory “Happy birthday” at him, knowing he’d pass along at least a shot, if not something more substantial. He’s also pretty sure he’s _spent some time_ with a decent number of them.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, hoping to find that some texts have magically appeared since he last checked. A quick glance lets him know that’s not the case, and technically, it’s not his birthday anymore. Now, well after midnight, he can officially count the friends and family who took time to send him a birthday message. _Zero._ Zero texts or calls from his sister or parents. Not a word from anyone except the people he’d invited here tonight. And most of those weren’t until after he’d paid for the tables in VIP and bottle service arrived. He shoves his phone back in the tight pocket of his ripped black skinny jeans and slouches into the cushions. At least the DJ is good.

David’s not sure when he closed his eyes or how long he’d kept them that way, but he’s suddenly very aware of the sensation he’s being watched. He sits up abruptly, and finds he’s not just being watched, but … sized up. Studied, almost like a subject in an art class. No, exactly like something set out before a circle of newbie art students, pencils twitching against their sketchbooks. 

He’s starting to get a little warm under the intensity of the gaze and he finds it’s not entirely unwelcome. The man is certainly attractive enough, even with the homeless chic vibe he’s got going on. David has never understood that particular aesthetic, but somehow, this guy is making it work. Especially now that the look he’s giving David has shifted from careful consideration to “in my mind you’re already naked and begging”.

David gives him a very slow, deliberate once-over, letting Mr. Tall, Lithe, and Scruffy know that he, too, can eyefuck with the best of them. Before David can even suggest that maybe he should join him, David is watching him step past the velvet rope, onto the VIP platform, walking toward him, until he’s standing between David’s widely skewed knees. 

“So, it’s not true then.”

David blinks up at him, wondering what he’s missed already. “What’s not true?”

“That beautiful things don’t ask for attention.” 

David is about to protest that he’s asked for nothing, but he’s not going to argue over being called ‘beautiful’.

“You sitting here. Alone. A prince on a fleeting throne, separated from the proletarian masses with ropes given meaning only by their placement. You demanded my attention.” He smiles, wolfishly. “Sebastien Raine.”

David is sitting up straighter. He knows that name, he’s heard about Sebastien’s photography. He doesn’t care about it currently, because being called a ‘prince’ is really working for him. Everything about this is working for him, if he’s being honest. Being the focal point of this man... Sebastien’s... attention feels intoxicating. Maybe even reckless. He could go for something reckless right now. He stands, “David Rose.”

“David Rose.” Sebastien repeats, saying his name slowly, like he’s tasting the words on his tongue before he releases them again. He looks David in the eye for a split second, before he’s got a hand on the back of David’s neck, roughly pulling him in for a greedy, possessive kiss.

David’s gasp dies in his throat as Sebastien’s lips claim his. Everything about the rest of the disappointing night falls away with the insistent press of Sebastien’s hips against his. He breaks the kiss, breathless, “Do you want to…”

“I thought I was making that unabashedly evident.” Sebastien remarks, his fingers starting to skim along David’s fly.

“ _Fu-uck_ …” David steps away to snap at the next waitress that walks by, practically throwing his black AmEx at her. When she returns moments later, he doesn’t balk at the five-figure tab, and adds a very generous tip as Sebastien looks on. He flings the signed receipt at her and turns back to Sebastien, “Yeah?”

Sebastien smirks, walking away, his stride bold, already sure that David will follow him.

For a brief moment, David contemplates if he should say ‘goodbye’ to anyone, but the growing distance between him and Sebastien makes the decision for him. He pushes through the sweaty crowd to catch up, slipping out the door of the club into the balmy night air right behind him. He watches as Sebastien steps into the street to hail a cab, and then slides into the backseat beside him. When the cabbie asks ‘where to’, he gives his own address without a second thought.

Sebastien wastes no time in laying a hand on the inside of David’s upper thigh, and gripping hard enough that he can see David bite his lip to stop whatever sound was trying to escape. 

If David didn’t think acting like horny teenager in the back of a cab was incorrect, he would absolutely be doing just that. Watching the streetlights illuminate Sebastien’s face is turning him on almost as much as the very firm hold he’s got on his thigh. He’s incredibly handsome, all sharp lines and shaggy hair. David is beyond pleased to be the recipient of his time, especially after that approach. He was so sure of himself, the confidence and swagger, and his desire for David, how could he not be flattered?

When the cab stops outside David’s building, Sebastien waits somewhat patiently just long enough for David to pay the fare and then virtually shoves him out of the car and makes a quick exit himself. As David fumbles for his key card, Sebastien’s hands continue to roam over David’s body, his fingers grazing over the warm skin under David’s shirt.

David grabs his arm and pulls him into the elevator, only to be moved toward the wall as Sebastien leans into him, capturing his lips in an urgent kiss that quickly turns filthy. Sebastien all but drags him toward the only door on the floor - the penthouse apartment - as soon as the elevator stops, the two of them nearly tripping over each other in their hurry to get inside. 

Finally locked in the apartment, there is a short struggle for control before David gives in, letting Sebastien crowd him against the nearest open wall space. Before he realizes what’s happening, Sebastien has him pinned, his hands on David’s wrists holding them in place near his shoulders. Sebastien presses fully against him, chest to chest, hip to hip, murmuring what might be poetry or lies against David’s collarbone. 

David moans, arching into Sebastien. He wants everything this man is willing to give him and judging by the way his teeth are scraping over David’s skin, he feels almost positive he’s not going to be disappointed. He’s torn between fighting to get his hands free and under Sebastien’s clothes, and wanting to let Sebastien do whatever he wants because… so far, so very good. 

Sebastien releases David’s wrists from his grip and guides him to the button on his artfully destroyed jeans. He nips at David’s earlobe, “Show me you want me, David.” 

David grabs a fistful of Sebastien’s shirt and pushes away from the wall, tugging him toward his room. As soon as he’s near enough to the bed, he yanks Sebastien’s pants to his ankles and sinks to the floor as Sebastien settles at the edge of the bed. He can feel Sebastien’s eyes on him as he takes him deeply into his mouth.

Sebastien groans, immediately thrusting his hips toward David. He glances down as David makes a muted choking sound, “I knew you’d look stunning on your knees.” 

The part of David that craves compliments lights up, encouraging him. He works skillfully through his repertoire of signature tricks, Sebastien offering his approval in curses and grunts. He stops David abruptly when he’s close. “Get ready for me.”

David scrambles to carefully remove his clothing as Sebastien tosses his own aside and procures a condom that had been stashed somewhere. David is relieved they didn’t have to stop and talk about it, but he can tell it’s one of those slimy ribbed kind that’s supposed to provide lube and extra sensation but does neither. 

He doesn’t protest when Sebastien grabs him and hauls him onto the bed, face down, ass up. Sebastien spreads him open with one hand, while the other reaches around his hip and gives him a few lazy, loose strokes before sliding inside him with one forceful thrust. David gasps, the flurry of motions taking him by surprise, but he still automatically starts moving against him as Sebastien rocks into him.

David feels him leaning over, the smooth plane of Sebastien’s chest and abs against his back. Sebastien bites along his shoulder, teasingly, before grazing the back of his neck. “I want to... photograph... you,” he says, punctuating his words with deep thrusts. “There’s something so… audacious about… your desire.”

“Yes...yeah, o-okay,” David nods violently, nearly pushed over the edge by the idea of Sebastien finding him a worthy subject. Sebastien’s fingertips are digging into his waist, his driving rhythm broken by the chaotic stutter of his hips. He’s moaning when Sebastien jerks him back hard and tells him he was made for this. The words and the tremor of Sebastien’s release sparks his own, jolting through his body until he’s quivering and on the verge of collapsing beneath the weight of both of them.

Sebastian draws in a sharp breath, rolling off of him and chuckling. “Your rapture is inspiring.” He gives David’s ass a slap with his palm as he rises from the bed. He whips off the condom to throw it away in the trash can by the bed, and starts to round up his clothes. He pulls on his shirt and reaches for David, drawing his fingers along his jawline. Grasping his chin, he turns David’s head to roughly bring their lips together, tongues and teeth clashing. Sebastien lets go after having fully plundered David’s mouth, leaving David panting while he finishes getting dressed.

David gathers the sheet around his waist, standing up while Sebastien tugs on his heavy boots. He wants to ask him to get drinks or when they can hook up again, but stops as he notices Sebastien’s eyes roaming slowly over his body. His breath catches as Sebastien approaches him again, pulling the sheet away from him and letting it fall to the floor. “You will be a prime subject for my retrospective exhibit.” 

David bites his lip as he watches him leave.

He thinks he might be in love. 

(*”beautiful things don’t ask for attention” - James Thurber)

  
  



	2. another version of the truth

** Month One **

Two weeks.

Two fucking weeks. Without the fucking. Even though that’s all he could think about. 

He owned a fucking art gallery. He should be able to track down a fucking photographer.

David leans back in his chair, trying to roll his shoulders back and release some of the tension he couldn’t seem to stop carrying. Ever since Sebastien had left his place two weeks ago, he’d constantly been on David’s mind. Every notification from his phone made his heart skip, hoping Sebastien had gotten his number and wanted to hook up again.

He knew he couldn’t have asked Sebastien to stay, but why _didn’t_ he get his number? He just let him walk out the door and didn’t even ask. 

Maybe this was some sort of … challenge? Was Sebastien playing hard to get? David sighs, he has no evidence to suggest that would be true, but he’d said...he had sort of… _implied_ he wanted to see him again. To photograph him, he’d have to see him. So he didn’t use exactly the specific words to tell him that’s what he wanted. It all meant the same thing, didn’t it?

David had gone out every night for the past week, a different club each time, hoping to find Sebastien, to feel the heat of his gaze, to bring him back to bed. He gets up and begins pacing around his office, wondering if it would be too desperate to have his assistant start making calls to see what she could find. 

Just as he is about to shout for her, she appears in front of him, startling him. “Fuck! Ruby! You’re like a fucking… I don’t know… a ninja.” He does a full body wiggle, trying to shake off the surprise. “What do you want, anyway?” 

“You have a visitor.” She says, tossing her vivid red hair over her shoulder.

David raises an eyebrow. A visitor? He wasn’t scheduled to meet with anyone until tomorrow… He follows her out of his office and around the corner, immediately lighting up when he sees Sebastien leaning against the counter. “Sebastien.”

A slow smirk draws across Sebastien’s face, clearly pleased that David obviously wanted to see him. “David.”

David gives him a ‘follow me’ nod and watches him push off the ledge he’s leaning on. “Ruby, hold my calls.” 

She rolls her eyes at him, “You got it, boss.”

David waits until Sebastien has stepped fully into his office and slams the door shut and locks it. He thinks Sebastien may be even more attractive than he remembered. He wants to reach for him, get his hands on him immediately. “Is this visit for business? Or pleasure?”

“Can it not be both?” Sebastien asks, moving closer to David.

David takes the proximity as an invitation and curls his index fingers through the front belt loops of Sebastien’s low slung jeans to pull him closer. He would prefer this was a strictly social call, but ‘both’ can also be fine, because at least it still includes some element of definitely-not-business. 

Sebastien doesn’t waste any time, crushing his lips and hips against David, in a kiss that was both demanding and somehow imploring for more. 

David feels his breath leave his body, knocked out of him by the force of Sebastien’s approach as they tumbled onto the black leather couch David had installed in his office for just such an occasion. 

_Fuck, it’s good to be wanted._

He moans as Sebastien’s hand slips into his underwear, his slender fingers curling around his length and giving him a not-so-gentle squeeze. 

“David… might you be interested in removing your pants?” Sebastien asks, his tone clearly indicating he thinks David should have taken care of that already if he wants this to go any further. 

“Oh… god… _o-okay_ …” David raises his hips to shove his pants down, working around Sebastien’s grip that has not loosened any and is making it very, very difficult for him to think, and kicks them off into a heap on the floor.

“As I suspected,” Sebastien murmurs, looking into David’s dark eyes like he’s about to steal his soul. He slides off the couch and onto his knees in a way that’s somehow effortlessly graceful and one of the hottest things David has seen in a while.

David is pliant and flexible as Sebastien manhandles him around on the couch, adjusting his position. He watches Sebastien shove his knees apart and dip down to wedge his shoulder beneath his knee, then grab his hips and pull him toward the edge of the cushion. He groans, deep and desperate, when Sebastien swallows him whole. He automatically reaches to grab at Sebastien’s hair, but is quickly redirected to put his hands elsewhere. 

He white-knuckles the cushions when Sebastien rearranges him one more time and begins slipping a finger over him. He’s fully expecting Sebastien to thrust it inside him, work him in time with the methodical way his tongue is already making him tremble. But he doesn’t so much as trace around him, but instead skids forward toward David’s balls and begins a back-and-forth motion over the sensitive skin just behind them, applying a little more pressure with each pass. 

David is already dangerously close to coming undone from the hot depths of Sebastien’s mouth and the filthy sounds he’s making, when he starts to realize there’s another sensation that’s building quickly. He doesn’t even have time to try to pay closer attention to what he’s doing or how it’s affecting him, as the next pass-and-press of Sebastien’s fingers trigger stars exploding in front of his eyes. His body reacts without his consent, writhing in an orgasm that threatens to have him professing his undying devotion.

Sebastien stands and hurriedly looks around the room, striding toward the trash can to spit as David takes ragged breaths and blinks to bring his eyes back into focus. He sits on the arm of the couch, his eyes following David picking up his pants and wobbling as he struggles to put them back on. “I believe we should make an appearance at Luca Kar’s exhibit. I know it’s sold out, but you can secure access, correct?”

David nods. He has no desire to see Luca’s exhibit, but he’d currently agree to follow Sebastien into the second circle of Hell if he asked him to. He can’t take his eyes off Sebastien as he scans David’s desk looking for something and begins going through drawers until he finds a sharpie. He comes back to David, puts the marker between his teeth and grasps David’s left wrist, pushing the sleeve of his sweater up to his elbow. David tries not to fret about the delicate knit getting stretched while Sebastien writes his phone number on the inside of his forearm in the indelible black ink. 

Sebastien tosses the marker and gives David a smirk as he walks to the door, “Let me know when we’re going.”

David is on the phone to call the gallery hosting Luca before the door is closed.

* * * * * 

David surveys the piles of clothing on his bed again, all having been dismissed as options. Despite the myriad of options his closet offers, none of them seem right. He doesn’t know if it counts as a date, what _is_ a date anyway? Sebastien had said “ _we”_. David would do a lot of things for the sake of “we” or “us”. That’s why he had to get the details right. He needed to look the part, like he belonged with Sebastien. 

He knew it was a tricky balance between _too much_ and _not enough_. He wanted Sebastien to be drawn to him, to find him irresistible, sexy enough to show off to everyone and smug he was the one that got to take him to bed. But he also knew he needed to present himself as if he didn’t care about any of those things or anything else, that he was above all of it, with that same aura of nonchalance Sebastien so easily projected.

His fingers skim idly over his arm, like he expects to feel the remnants of what Sebastien had scrawled on him. He’d pulled his sleeve down, over the writing, like he was hiding something secret and precious. Despite his worries about the chemicals compromising his skin, he’d let it stay there for the remainder of the day before scrubbing it off in the shower, but not before he’d taken a picture.

He looks over his shirts again - rejecting Prada, McQueen, Gucci, Dolce & Gabbana, and Givenchy as too obvious. He was overthinking and he knew he didn't have time to spiral, he still had to do his hair before the car he’d ordered for the night showed up. Rather than debate more about what to wear, he decides on a classic and sets out distressed black jeans, a white tee, and the leather jacket that never lets him down.

* * * * *

David smiles, hoping it appears less fake than it feels. He has no idea who Sebastien just introduced him to and he doesn’t particularly care either. The evening has not unfolded anything like he had hoped and he’s becoming increasingly anxious that it’s not going to end the way he was planning either. 

He had thought they would walk around the gallery and talk about the pieces, but he quickly realized Sebastien was more interested in viewing what he considered his competition than having a discussion about composition or inspiration. Once Sebastien had visually critiqued almost every piece, he had switched to a social campaign of making sure everyone knew he was there.

He’s almost positive that Sebastien has greeted and name dropped him to nearly everyone in the room, including Luca Kar. He can tell Sebastien thinks his work is superior to Luca’s, but he didn’t notice how jealous he was until Sebastien was sneering as Luca walked away to greet another attendee.

“He fancies himself so unconventional, as if he were producing something remarkable and unprecedented,” Sebastien scoffs, cutting across the gallery toward the door, David hurrying along to keep up with him. They step outside and Sebastien gives David a slow, thorough inspection from head to toe. He touches David’s temple, drags his fingers down to his jawline. “My instinct to create is… roused. Fetch the car.”

As David’s heart skitters from the caress, he tries to remember how to summon the driver. The night might be salvageable after all.

* * * * *

David looks around Sebastien’s studio, trying to take everything in and find little pieces of trivia about him while Sebastien sets up his camera. He’s curious to see Sebastien’s process, how he works. He’s actually not been able to observe much of Sebastien’s photography, but he certainly feels like he has heard a lot about it tonight. 

He looks at a few snapshots on the wall, trying to determine if he thinks they’re interesting or... _what was the word he kept calling Luca’s photos?_... derivative. He knows Sebastien is jealous of Luca’s exhibition and he knows he can help him with that, but he’s not sure he’s seen anything he’d particularly want to show at his gallery. “Are these your favorite pieces, Sebastien?”

“My favorite piece doesn’t exist yet,” Sebastien states.

David cocks his head, curious. “Oh? And why is that?” 

“Because I haven’t photographed you,” Sebastien says, casually, walking away from his tripod and equipment.

David nearly swoons, clutching the chair he’s standing near for support. If he were in closer proximity to Sebastien he’d be on his knees again for that one. He glances over to him in time to see Sebastien setting a vinyl record on an ancient looking turntable, the scratchy sounds starting to drift through the wide open space. 

Sebastien tosses his hooded cardigan aside and peels off the ragged tee shirt he’d been wearing underneath it. David bites his lip, eyes roaming over Sebastien’s exposed torso, all that taut, creamy skin and dark pink nipples, a pendant of some sort hanging on a long chain and a faint trail of dark hair starting below his navel and disappearing behind the waistband of his underwear that peeks over his slouchy jeans. David is realizing this is the first time he’s really gotten to study him, they’d been in such a frenzy before...

“David!” Sebastien snaps his fingers, pointing toward the white sheet he’s draped along a wall. 

David startles when Sebastien shouts for him. “Sorry, I was…” 

“I know what you were doing.” Sebastien chuckles and gives him a slow, lazy smile. “I do my best work … unencumbered.”

He tries his best to give a confident smirk, like he’s still that guy at the club. One on one like this, he knows his game falters in unfamiliar territory.

“David. I need you. There.” Sebastien says, gesturing to where he wants him.

_I need you._

David fights against the grin spreading across his lips, tucking it off to one side. He’ll do anything he asks, if he says it like that. David saunters in front of the camera, waiting for Sebastien’s instructions. He knows he’s photogenic and he’d done enough modelling as a kid to know how to find his best angles. But this is different, he’s not trying to sell a cranberry turtleneck for GAP Kids, he’s selling … _himself_. An idea of himself. The way he wants Sebastien to see him.

He feels it immediately when Sebastien turns his gaze on him, looking at him with a visionary eye, imagining him through the lens of the camera. He hears the first few clicks of the shutter and transforms his face into his best “come fuck me” expression, eyes dark and intense, lips parted and pouty, the barest hint of dimple. 

“Fuck, David….” Sebastien swears from behind his camera.

David is smug, pleased with himself, and full of the bold assurance that comes with breathless validation from another person. He moves through shot after shot, close up and intimate, without a second thought to any of his usual anxieties. He can do this, he thinks as Sebastien calls out another direction. He can be somebody’s muse. 

At Sebastien’s suggestion he shrugged off the leather jacket and removed his black boots. He stands barefoot in his jeans, while Sebastien adjusts the sleeves of his white tee to his precise specifications. He gasps when Sebastien leans in and bites at his lower lip with a growl. 

“You are exquisite, David,” he says, capturing a few more shots while David is caught off-guard by his words, clearly pleased with the compliment. Sebastien takes his camera off the stand and moves closer to David, suddenly reaching to take the collar of David’s shirt in his fist. He snaps a photo, his fingers full of white fabric, the column of David’s throat, his mouth open in surprise. Sebastien considers the image for a moment and declares it “devastating”. 

David exhales a ragged breath as Sebastien lets go for a moment, then grasps his chin and holds him roughly while he takes a rapid succession of photos while slowly licking up the side of David’s face. David contemplates what just happened, unable to decide if he’s disgusted or wickedly turned on. He wipes his cheek with the back of his hand as Sebastien wanders away, making deeply satisfied sounds as he assesses the burst of pictures he just took.

Sebastien returns moments later, camera draped on a thick strap around his neck, two shot glasses in one hand and a long black cord of some sort in the other. He gives David one of the shot glasses and clinks the other against it and waits for David to toss it back before he does the same. He sets the glasses aside and reaches for the hem of David’s shirt. He slowly brings it up over his head, stepping incrementally closer to David as he lets the fabric fall to the floor. 

David’s heart begins hammering a wild rhythm in his chest that he’s sure Sebastien has to be able to hear when their lips meet. The kiss is like slow motion, sharing the same breath until the air is gone and they’re gasping against each other. Sebastien’s tongue teases his, making him only vaguely aware of Sebastien taking his hands and wrapping the cord around his wrists. 

David is panting when Sebastien breaks away and locks his eyes on David’s, making his knees weak. He had no idea that was something that could actually happen. He whimpers as Sebastien kisses him again, quick and dirty, then easily pushes him into a kneeling position, his hands clasped together and resting on his thighs.

Sebastien takes a step away, picking up his camera again to aim it at David on the floor, bound and beautiful. “You are a revelation, David.”

David sighs, contented by Sebastien’s praise and gratification, and oddly unbothered at being essentially helpless in front of the lens. 

  
  


* * * * *

“David!” 

_No._ David stops mid-step at one of the few sounds that might be able to cause his night to collapse in on itself. He whirls around, knowing he has not had nearly enough champagne for whatever this conversation might bring. “Mom. What are you doing here? It’s Tuesday. It’s almost midnight. Shouldn’t you be tucked in at some hotel room by now?”

Moira tuts at him. “I was assured that this epoch of the evening was appurtenant to alight at such a soiree, David.” 

David takes a deep breath and tells himself to stay calm. He will not let her damper the buzz from the bubbly and the fact that Sebastien had agreed to accompany him to the gallery for the evening, ostensibly serving as their debut as a … He catches himself. They are two people who have shown up together in public. “Why are you here?”

“Who is this most pulchritudinous companion of yours, David?” Moira asks, after having given Sebastien a thorough once-over.

Sebastien gives Moira his most charming smile and reaches for her hand to bring it to his lips. “Sebastien Raine. It is a truly spectacular honor to meet you.”

“I’m sure,” Moira agrees, and returns her attention to David. “Now this bantam exhibition here…”

“Mom!” David hisses. “Please.”

Sebastien barely contains his laughter as he excuses himself, leaving David to contend with his mother alone. 

David watches Sebastien disappear into a huddle of beautiful people, unease prickling up his spine. “Can we do this later?”

“Your father and I often find ourselves beleaguered with concern for your affairs, David. You can hardly criticize us for that,” she admonishes him.

“Oh, I absolutely can. I hear Alexis is in Djibouti, how about you concern yourselves with that for a while?” David asks, scanning the crowd for Sebastien.

Moira scoffs, “That’s not even an authentic locale, David.”

“I can’t do this right now. I’ll call you later.” He walks off, his eyes darting toward the dark corners of the gallery. It wasn’t the first time Sebastien had disappeared over the course of the evening, his anxiety reminds him. As he nears his office, he sees Sebastien leaning against a wall, laughing with a very young-looking blond man that David is pretty sure he’s seen in an online ad for “barely legal” porn.

“David!” Ruby waves her arms above her head, trying to get his attention.

He glances toward Sebastien again, wanting to bring him back to his side, but the last shred of responsibility in his body makes him move in Ruby’s direction. He still has a gallery to run.

* * * * *

David shakes the cup of ice chips he’s been refilling and chewing on all day. It’s getting low again and he’s hoping the splash of vodka he just thought to add will have some sort of numbing effect. Thankfully the swelling has gone down since last night, but still, he’s never been quite so aware of his tongue. 

From the moment he’d tightly shut his eyes against the feeling of the clamp, the sole focus of his bodily consciousness had centered on his most utilized, and arguably most talented, muscle. There were the few brief moments as the needle slid through when Sebastien had grasped his hand and let out a low, appreciative whistle, when all the adrenaline coursing through him seemed to have sparked where their fingers met. He’s determined not to think about how quickly Sebastien swatted his hand away when he’d reached for it as they left the studio.

After the top bead was secured on the barbell and David heard the first click against his teeth, he’d had a moment of both regret and anxiety. He was going to have to figure out how to work with this new adornment quickly, if he wanted to be sure to keep Sebastien’s attention directed toward him. He did not want a repeat of last night’s … encounter. When he’d gone looking for Sebastien again and found him making out with the blond twink against his office door, he had been more than a little disheartened. Being offered Sebastien’s sloppy seconds to kiss baby blond - and tangle with his tongue stud- had not improved the situation. 

“WU-BY!” David yells, shaking the cup again.

Ruby appears in his doorway, snickering. “Yes, boss?”

“I-th, pleath.” He hates the smug look on her face.

She takes the cup and walks off, shaking her head when she gets a whiff of what’s in the cup besides the ice. “If you’re sipping vodka back here, I should at least be able to keep a bottle of wine out front.”

He scowls at her, unwilling to reply for fear she’ll tease him again.

Ruby drops the cup, full again, back on his desk a few moments later. “I still can’t believe you did that,” she tells him before going back to her station.

He picks up his phone and flips to the camera, sticking his tongue out. He doesn’t _hate_ the look of it, and he knows Sebastien will enjoy it. Sebastien’s enthusiastic raving about kissing that little blond fucker had been _almost_ enough to convince him, but once Sebastien had suggested how much he thought it would enhance other … _activities_ , David knew he was bound for the piercer’s chair.

But now he has to wait. Four to six weeks for it to heal, and then he’s got to learn how to use it. He keeps thinking he doesn’t have that kind of time. And he certainly can’t practice on Sebastien, he needs to have all of his best moves perfected and ready to go. He can’t wait a month. He’ll figure it out. It’ll be fine. It has to be.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to TrueIllusion, Lanime17, and fairmanor for reading and feedback, and Tailor1971 for a great chat about good head.


	3. the perfect drug

** Month Two **

“Sebastien.” David sways a little, leaning more heavily against Sebastien as he argues with a blonde girl. He thinks he hears her say his name, maybe? His eyelids feel so heavy. Why is he so tired? He thought that last bump of coke would have carried him through at least another hour or so. “ _Sebastien._ ” 

Sebastien dismisses her with a flick of his wrist and turns to reach into the bowl of rainbow colored pills sitting in the middle of the nearby table. He selects four- two octagonal pinks and two blue diamond shapes. He divides them, keeping one of each for himself. “David… open up.”

David obediently does as he’s told, and Sebastien sets them on his tongue over the nearly invisible spot where his short-lived piercing had been. A week into the healing process, an overly enthusiastic face-fucking had lead to the demise of both the jewelry and David’s voice for nearly a day. 

Sebastien presses David’s mouth closed with his index finger and instructs him to swallow before leaning in to kiss him, slow and dirty. 

\- - -

David wakes with a start, nearly falling out of his chair. He looks around, disoriented. Why is he in his office? How did he get here? _When_ did he get here? He’s pretty sure he’s still wearing yesterday's clothes, but he currently can’t remember much of anything from the previous night to really be sure. He stretches, trying to loosen up the stiff muscles in his back from laying hunched over his desk to sleep. 

The door suddenly swings open and Ruby shrieks, “What are you doing here?!”

David yelps in response, even though he’d seen her start to walk in to get his office set up for his day. “Fuck! Ruby! My God.”

“How are you this early?” she asks, incredulously, and then gives him a once over. “Oh, you didn’t go home?”

“Why would you say that?” He asks, far too snappish for his current state of affairs.

Ruby frowns at him, “Because that’s what you were wearing yesterday?”

David looks down at his sweater and jeans, his eyes immediately drawn to a splotchy patch on his right thigh. Oh for fuck’s sake, that better not be… He scrapes the edge of a fingernail over the spot and makes a disgusted face. Yes, that’s exactly what it is.

Ruby cracks up. “The harsh light of morning on the evidence of last night.”

David glares at her, wishing he remembered more of last night, or that he at least knew who came all over his $1300 Balmain jeans. He suspects - _hopes_ \- it was Sebastien, but...

“Go home. Shower. Maybe burn those pants. I’ll take care of things here.” Ruby tells him.

David wishes her expression didn’t look quite so pitiful.

\- - -

He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing under the waterfall of droplets cascading down from his giant rain shower fixture, but enough time has passed the water is not nearly as warm as it was when he started. He twists the faucet to stop the flow and reaches to grab a towel from the heated rack. He dries himself off, realizing all the soap and hot water actually did little to remove the lingering feeling of being... dirty. The unidentified source of the bodily fluid on his jeans is still bothering him, but he really can’t get over the total blackout of memories for the majority of the night. 

David steps out, wraps the towel around his waist and goes to brush his teeth for the third time since he’d Uber-of-Shamed back to his place, as if he’ll be able to un-do the coke he’d rubbed on his gums last night, one of the last things he actually recalls. He’s fairly positive that wasn’t what had turned him into a very-short-term amnesiac. He’s done plenty of cocaine and never had anything like that happen before. Unless it was laced with something? He rinses and spits into the sink, drops his toothbrush into the holder and pauses, listening to try to figure out what the noise he just heard was. 

He pulls on a pair of joggers and hoodie that he slept in at some point recently as quickly as he can and peers around the corner into his living room. Not seeing anything, he moves as silently as possible toward the kitchen, stopping short when he catches sight of Sebastien opening the refrigerator and pulling out orange juice and a bottle of champagne. He stares, incredulously wondering what the fuck Sebastien is doing in his apartment besides apparently making a fucking mimosa at this particular moment. He’d been all too eager to hand over a key when Sebastien not-so-subtly hinted he thought he should have one, but now he’s mainly curious when Sebastien has decided to pop in without him knowing.

“Good morning, Sebastien.”

Sebastien nearly drops the glasses he’s about to bring to his lips, clearly surprised to see David at home. He recovers quickly, transforming his shocked expression into his signature smirk. “David. It’s as if I conjured you here, simply out of my desire to see you.”

“You came... here... to see me? Now. When I should be at work.” He knows he’s being fussy, but he can’t shake how _off_ everything feels this morning. His eyes follow Sebastien as he comes closer, slipping an arm around David’s waist to pull him against his side.

“But you’re not there, David. This arbitrary moment has found you and I together in very close proximity…” Sebastien’s words fade as he kisses and bites at David’s neck, causing him to lean in closer and moan when Sebastien slips his hands up his back, bringing his shirt with it. 

\- - -

David glances up from his MacBook when Ruby peeks through the doorway of his office. He tries to look annoyed, like she’s caught him in the middle of something important instead of checking his horoscope. “What?”

“Uh, someone sent you some… sticks?” 

“Sticks,” he repeats, raising an eyebrow.

Ruby studies the arrangement on her desk again. “Well, I mean, there’s like, one flower, but yes, sticks.”  
  
David rolls his eyes. “Just let me see it.” 

“Then come look at it. I’m not trying to carry it in here,” she says and turns on her heel. 

He gets up to follow her, and rounds the corner quickly, but slows as he approaches the display. There’s a shallow black dish containing two deeply red flowers - dahlias, he thinks - and three thorny branches of varying lengths. The corners of his mouth twitch, threatening to curve upward.

Ruby watches his reaction curiously. “I don’t get it.”

He picks up the white slip of paper tied loosely to the base of one of the limbs, hopeful as he opens it. No message, just “SR” in a flowy tangle of lines. It’s enough to send a surge of warmth and affection through David. He smiles, trailing a finger over the velvety blooms of the flowers. “It’s [ ikebana ](https://www.ftd.com/blog/design/ikebana).”

Ruby just stares at him, waiting for more information, unsure of how to proceed with this soft, gooey moment he seems to be having.

“Japanese flower arranging.”

“..... Sure.” She sits back down in her chair and returns to the vendor list for the gallery’s next event.

David carefully picks up the ceramic base and walks back into his office, contemplating the many ways he intends to say ‘thank you’.

  
  


\- - -

David wakes up to the extremely unnerving sensation of rolling off the mattress. He is both relieved and disconcerted to find the fall is minimal, as he lands almost immediately on the floor. He rubs his bleary eyes, trying to adjust to the harsh light and unfamiliar surroundings while attempting to ignore the ice-pick-like pain jabbing at the base of his skull. It takes him a moment to figure out that he was sleeping on a mattress… placed haphazardly _on the floor_ … in a back corner of Sebastien’s studio space. 

He wobbles as he stands, pulling the sheet he was clutching around him like a very poorly constructed toga. How did he end up here? He doesn’t remember watching Sebastien work last night. He thinks back, as is becoming an alarming morning ritual, trying to sift through fragments of thoughts and images from an indeterminate amount of time and piece them together enough to figure out how he arrived here. His mental inventory is disrupted by his phone skittering over the floor near a pillow as it vibrates when he receives several texts in a row. He bends over to grab it, instantly becoming dizzy from the headrush that accompanies the movement.

He is surprised at the number of missed calls and texts waiting for him, particularly when he realizes that nearly all of them are from Ruby. He starts with the texts, she’s asking where he is, if he’s coming in, and is he okay, and those are from… yesterday. _He wasn’t at work yesterday?_ The phone buzzes again, the message telling him he has less than 20 minutes before Erich Bytre shows up and what the fuck is she supposed to tell him?

David fumbles for the calendar icon, willing his hand not to shake. Erich’s appointment can’t be in 20 minutes. He’s not flying in for a few days… He checks the dates on the texts and today’s date. _What the fuck._ Now he’s losing whole days? He’s turning slowly in a circle, looking for any pieces of clothing he can throw on and get the hell out the door. He texts Ruby back something that he hopes says he’ll call her in a second, but he’s increasingly distressed by his complete lack of awareness of … everything. He can’t find his fucking clothes or his fucking shoes and how the fuck is it already the day for this fucking meeting with a fucking client he can’t afford to fucking lose. 

A solid seven minutes later David has managed to unearth a pair of pants that might be his and a shirt that he’s almost positive isn’t his, but he’s got them both on and is trying to jam his feet into his shoes as he hurries toward the door. He finally notices Sebastien, draped lazily across a chair at his workstation, looking smug as he adjusts the exposure of a photo on an oversized monitor. David is about to say he’ll see him later as he runs for the door, but stops dead in his tracks when he notices the photo Sebastien is working on is of him. _A lot_ of him. 

“What the fuck?!” David yelps, torn between his need to be at the gallery an hour ago - or yesterday - and his desire for an explanation.

Sebastien spins the chair around, and blinks up at him, like he’s confused why David would possibly have a problem with what he’s seeing. He grasps David’s wrist, bringing his hand to his mouth, and kisses across the knuckles of David’s fist. 

“Relax. These are for me, lover,” he says, with a slow wink.

The unexpectedly intimate gesture and ‘ _lover’_ wash over him like an anesthetic. He instantly feels calmer and settled somehow. _Of course_ , a photographer would take a picture of their lover. _Of course_ , a photographer would want to capture a moment of passion on film as a testimony. 

Sebastien swats David on the ass, bringing him out of his reverie, “Weren’t you on your way out?”

“Fuck!” He hurries out the door and hails a cab. He slides into the back seat and gives the driver the address. He’s about to call Ruby and let her know he’s on his way, when something from his very brief conversation with Sebastien occurs to him. Sebastien said “ _these_ ”. The photo he saw isn’t the only one. 

_Fuck._

\- - -

David stares at the ceiling in his bedroom, grateful to be in his own bed and aware of how he had ended up there. He’s less sure of everything else, though. He glances over at the back of Sebastien’s head, because he rolled over and fell asleep immediately after they’d had sex. David guesses that’s better than immediately getting dressed and leaving, even if it does still feel like he’s putting as much distance between them as the king-sized mattress will allow, which is not exactly what he hoped for the first time Sebastien stayed over. 

When they had argued earlier at the gallery, David just knew he’d pushed too far and that was it, that was the end of … _this_. Whatever it was they were doing together. He’d been shocked and relieved to hear his door unlocking and then see Sebastien strut into the bedroom, pulling his shirt up over his head and demanding David get naked. 

He reaches for his phone, knowing he’s not going to fall asleep any time soon. He opens the calendar app, trying to think through the logistics of rearranging the exhibits he already has lined up to make time and space for Sebastien’s photos. He’d promised “later” when Sebastien suggested it, knowing how complicated it would be to try to make it work. He’d nearly relented when Sebastien’s displeasure led to a terse exchange of words about David clearly not caring about him enough to demonstrate how much he valued their “physical and creative partnership”. Sebastien had left with a scowl, not answering David’s timid query if he’d see him later or not.

But then Sebastien was in his bed and biting at his neck like some kind of hipster vampire and grasping his hips to pull him into position. He doesn’t think it’s really fair to be held responsible for the things he agreed to while Sebastien was inside of him, but he’s typing out a text to Ruby to set up a time to meet and discuss who they can move and to when. 

He flips through his calendar and realizes that it's been almost two months since his birthday. Which means this … whatever it is…is rapidly approaching the longest lasting… _dalliance_ David has ever been involved in. It’s a relationship of some kind, isn’t it? Why couldn’t he call it that? What makes something a _relationship_ anyway? They’re fucking on the regular, they spend time together out of bed sometimes, they’re seen in public together, maybe they don’t call them _dates_ specifically, but he thinks it still counts. Sebastien is basically his boyfriend, _of course_ he’s going to make the exhibition work for him. 

\- - -

David smiles as he feels Sebastien tighten his grip on him, fingers digging into his hip. It feels possessive and bold in front of all these people, that Sebastien wants to hold him close. He is only half listening to Sebastien addressing the crowd of club kids and socialites about his upcoming exhibition at David’s gallery, something he’s describing as “a juxtaposition of perception and belief”, whatever that means. He’s just happy Sebastien made him part of this moment, slim fingers circling his wrist and pulling him in, slipping his arm around David like he was proud to show him off and share this with him.

Sebastien stops speaking to take a long drink out of the bottle of Macallan 25 he’d ordered to be brought to the table. He passes it off to one of the revelers nearby and turns toward David letting his eyes sweep over his face like they’re moving in slow motion before leaning into brush his lips against David’s.

David can taste the orange and spice of the whisky on Sebastien’s tongue as they kiss, deep and long and hungry. He gasps for breath, ready to take Sebastien home or at least into a dark corner, but they no sooner step away from one another when Sebastien is yanked into the congregation of his admirers by a hand attached to an unknown person. He sighs in frustration and grabs an abandoned half-full bottle of Krug Grande Cuvée and a glass that looks unused off the table they’d taken over earlier in the evening. 

Settling back into the plush banquette, he pours the champagne to nearly overflowing, and takes a sip to keep from spilling. He’s happy that Sebastien seems so damn pleased about having an exhibit at the gallery, but he wishes it hadn’t come at such a cost. Fuck. He wasn’t going to think about that tonight. He empties his glass and refills it, trying not to dwell on the fact he lost two of his best artists with the highest-attended shows over Sebastien. Both Finn Ricej and Moll Faire could show anywhere, but they had remained loyal to David, until he attempted to reschedule them in favor of Sebastien. Ruby’s look of disbelief as David made the calls had almost stopped him; she knew he was about to destroy two of the limited solid relationships the gallery had. She’d ended up walking away, unable to watch the damage be done.

He sets the glass aside and digs in the pocket of his jeans for the pills someone had handed out as “party favors” earlier and tosses them into his mouth. He drinks straight from the bottle, swallowing them down with the bitterness he’s trying not to feel. Sebastien clearly has a following. Maybe it will be good for the gallery to bring in some new customers. It’s fine. He’s doing a favor for his boyfriend. That’s how relationships work, right? He finishes what’s left in the bottle and scans the room, searching for Sebastien. He deserves some attention for what he’s done. He’d settle for a blow job in the bathroom right now, but just as a start. 

As if he had been summoned, Sebastien appears in front of David again, sauntering into his space the same way he had on the night they met. He pushes the bottle out of the way and sits on the table across from David. He reaches for David, pulling him in for another kiss, teasing him with a bite to his lower lip. He runs his hands up David’s thighs, “You are a vision of aloof celebration.”

David chooses to take his touch and his words as a compliment. “Just proud of my boyfriend.”

He sees Sebastien freeze, then break out into peals of laughter.

Sebastien takes a deep breath. “David. We’re not doing _boyfriend_ ,” he spits the moniker out as if it tasted sour in his mouth. “You know that.”

No, he didn’t know that, he thinks, staring back at Sebastien. He wonders what he needs to do to be enough.

\- - -

David wakes up leaning against the front door of his apartment. He blinks rapidly, then tries to focus, but everything is fuzzy around the edges. He’s thankful he’s the only one who has access to the area, he can only imagine what would happen if he’d had neighbors stepping over him. He makes an attempt to stand, using the door handle for leverage, because he’s not quite sure he trusts his ability to get upright. 

He stumbles inside, wondering how he got home and why he didn’t make it farther than he did. He finds he’s less concerned with the details than he had been when this happened before and something about that is frightening enough it makes him feel kind of sick. Or maybe it’s whatever is curdling in his stomach. Thinking that perhaps it was a combination of the two, he puts his hand over his mouth and runs for the sink.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I took an ikebana class a couple years ago. I was not good at it. 
> 
> Thank you TrueIllusion and Lanime17 for the read throughs, Tailor1971 for continuing to answer my questions, lastchancecafe for volunteering to opine, and Lisamc21 for some excellent thoughts.


	4. the downward spiral

**Month Three (almost Four)**

David raises his hand to shield his eyes from the harsh spotlight shining directly on him and Sebastien. “Are these really necessary?” 

“David. Do you not think that I know the ideal elements in which to showcase my talent? These photographs require precise highlights and shadows to harness their energy and capture the appropriate emotional temperature.”

“Of course...” David steps to the side, leaving Sebastien to bask in the artificial glow. 

Ruby joins David, handing him a fresh cup of coffee. “I should be getting hazard pay for this.”

David doesn’t have to ask what she means. He knows the last few days of All Sebastien, All the Time had been making her crazy. Sebastien’s list of requirements for both the display of his work, as well as his own personal demands were … _a lot_. David was definitely going to have to give her some sort of bonus when the exhibition was over. If she hadn’t quit by then.

They watch Sebastien’s loping gait carry him from one easel to another, as if he were contemplating whether or not the very structures meant to hold his masterpieces were worthy. 

“Have you seen anything he’s going to display yet?” Ruby asks.

David shakes his head. “No. I think the printer is supposed to drop them off today?”

Ruby rolls her eyes. “Who sends their shit to a commercial printer? He’s a photographer. Shouldn’t he be artistically offended by that?”

“Hmmm…” David takes a sip of his coffee to keep from snickering.

“Also, isn’t it like, really weird that none of the photos are here yet? We normally have those before we start any of this…” she says, gesturing to the various stages of construction going on around the wide open gallery.

Until Ruby just questioned it, David was figuring the peculiar and very particular way Sebastien had insisted the setup take place was all a part of his process. He looks at her, suddenly more than slightly concerned. Was there a reason Sebastien was waiting until the last minute to unveil the photos? David unconsciously squeezes the paper cup in his hand, as he realizes Sebastien was probably keeping the pictures out of sight for as long as possible because he knew David wouldn’t approve of them. _Fuck._

Sebastien snaps his fingers, “RU-BEAN!”

Ruby snarls at the sound of the nickname she’s repeatedly asked Sebastien to stop using after he’d started calling her that several days earlier. She glares at David. “I’m going to poison his kombucha.” 

David gives her what he hopes was a sympathetic look as she stomps off, glad it was Ruby that Sebastien had beckoned and not him. Everything about the experience of hosting Sebastien’s exhibit had turned into an exercise of futility for him. Sebastien questioned everything he suggested and insisted he knew best, despite this being his first real show and David having the benefit of experience. Sebastien had an opinion on each detail and would not be convinced otherwise, no matter what tips or tricks David offered. 

As far as David could tell, the only thing he was getting out of this was a few rough and reckless make-out sessions in the now very dark corners of the room, away from the spotlights Sebastien had insisted on. If Sebastien was feeling particularly frisky - seduced by the looming promise of crowds and critics - he’d shove a hand down David’s pants just long enough to get him riled up, then get distracted and go rushing off to require someone to recalibrate the wire frame that had just been hung or tilt a light to a different, “more complementary” angle. David had ended up in his office behind a locked door out of various kinds of frustration lately more times than he’d care to admit.

He watches as Sebastien attempts to explain his vision to the latest crew member who hadn’t met his exact specifications of the proper ratio of light exposure - or something else ridiculous - until he hears someone calling “Hello?” from the lobby. He turns the corner to see a courier laden with several giant, slim boxes that could only contain one thing. He signs for the boxes, glad that they had arrived at a time when Sebastien was distracted and he is be able to look through them on his own.

David rounds Ruby’s desk, quickly locating her box cutter and deftly slicing open the first box, careful not to go deep enough to scratch the contents. He separates the cardboard cover, holding his breath until he sees the familiar shape of the Flatiron Building. He has to stop himself from groaning as he pulls back print after print of the same kind of New York landmark photos he’s seen a thousand times, taken from perhaps a slightly different point of view on the street. Surely this wasn’t the work Sebastien had been so proud of while calling other artists “derivative”?

He sets that box aside and reaches for the next one, opening it to reveal a truly stunning portrait of a woman David thought he might recognize. The next photo was of the same woman, nude, and David is positive he knows her. While architecture was certainly not Sebastian’s best work, David will admit that he may be blessed with a definitive talent for human subjects. He flips through a few more prints, until he lands on a photo of himself, from the first time Sebastien had put him in front of the camera. He smiles, a tiny quirk of his mouth, pleased Sebastien would have chosen to include the photograph. Black and white where most of the others had been in color, David’s dark hair and long lashes made the downward angled picture dynamic and vivid somehow. 

Curious to see what else Sebastien had chosen, David moves to the next photograph, unable to stop the squeak that escapes as he gazes at a nearly full-body shot of himself, naked and clearly in a moment of … abandon. He can feel the flush of embarrassment flaming over his cheeks and is grateful no one was there to see it. He quickly pulls out the next prints and finds they were also shots of him, all very exposed, clearly under the influence, and very much not something he had consented to - at least at a time where he was sober and in his right mind.

He is frozen, stuck in place, heart pounding and unable to tear his eyes away from these images of himself. Obviously it was him in the photos, but he barely recognized that … person. That version of himself. He _looked_ like David, but he didn’t _feel_ like David. At least, he didn’t think so. Would he even know anymore?

How was this his life? He was no stranger to bad decisions and desperate actions in pursuit of attention and affection, but this? This was… too much. Sure, he’d been with hundreds of people who’d seen him in positions like this, naked and orgasmic, but that had been by choice. By _his_ choice. But now… How many people had seen these photos already? Had they stood around at the print shop, looking at each one? Critiquing his body or his expressions? Asking themselves what kind of junkie slut does things like let someone take pictures of them like this? 

“David?”

He quickly turns in the direction of Sebastien’s voice, but can’t find any words to say.

Sebastien smirks, that lazy, smug expression of self-satisfaction. “I see you’ve discovered some of the paragon works of my oeuvre.”

“You can’t use these, Sebastien,” David tells him, his words softer and shakier than he wanted them to be.

Sebastien’s face contorts in derision. “Of course, I can, David. These are my photographs, my tour de force, and I will have the world’s gaze on them.”

David tilts his head back, shaking it fiercely as he tries to keep his emotions in check. “I did _not_ give you permission…”

“But you did. You have not only voluntarily placed yourself within the focus of my lens, but you agreed. The very night that we met, you said ‘yes,’ David. You cannot decide you feel shame now about the brashness of your licentious actions,” Sebastien says calmly, unbothered by David’s discomfort.

David takes a deep breath, realizing that trying to argue about consent was going to be absolutely lost on this man. Thinking quickly, he decides to try another tactic that Sebastien would be far more likely to respond to. “Sebastien, you want to be the talk of Manhattan’s art scene, right?”

Sebastien gives him a withering glance that suggests _of course_ , that was his only goal. “David, why else would I requisition only the most illustrious accoutrements, if not to garner the proper attention that my endeavors deserve?”

David has to stifle a shudder, a sense so strong that his mother had momentarily possessed the man he’d been fucking, and nods, “Right. Absolutely. So you wouldn’t want to do anything that would suggest you had somehow not earned this exhibition, correct?”

Sebastien’s eyes narrow, “What are you implying, David? That somehow our physical entanglements have influenced my procuring an exposition in your gallery?”

 _Yes. Literally._ David tries to keep his expression neutral, “I’m saying that you wouldn’t want someone else thinking that. How is it going to look if someone walks into this gallery -- that I own -- and sees your work on display with a number of photographs of me, especially those in … intimate settings.” He can barely stop the cringe his body was fighting to fold in on just trying to describe the pictures as anything but pornographic. “People know we’ve been … associating. If you put these photos on display won’t it be inviting everyone to assume that your exhibition here is only because of our… dalliance.”

David can see the implications of what he was saying echoed clearly as Sebastien contemplates. He is proud of himself for finding a way to navigate the situation to his advantage.

“I can’t include those photographs, David. I’m not going to have our liaisons sully my reputation,” Sebastien announces, as if the idea had been his.

David bites his lip, trying not to take offense to somehow being a stain on Sebastien’s artistic integrity. He gives a curt nod just as he hears something come crashing down in the showroom that has Sebastien running to reprimand some unsuspecting worker. He quickly gathers the images he was not willing to let the world examine and took them into his office, stashing them in a supply cabinet until he had time to give them a proper demise.

\- - - - -

“You wear those well,” Sebastien comments, tilting his head toward David standing in the mirror, inspecting the randomized pattern of bitemarks and newly-forming bruises covering the better part of his torso.

David’s gaze flickers toward Sebastien, and he tries his best to manage a smirk. He watches Sebastien shrug on his purposefully tattered cardigan and accepts the kiss Sebastien crushes against his lips as he walks out of the bathroom.

“I’ll see you at the gallery, David,” he calls, just before David hears the front door shut.

David braces himself against the edge of the countertop and looks at his reflection again. He feels sickeningly similar to the way he did when he had found the photos of himself in Sebastien’s collection yesterday. Why is it that he can’t reconcile the person he sees with what he feels? He knows he’s made a lot of bad decisions over the past … fuck, has it really been three months? He thinks he’s swallowed more pills and jizz than he has ingested food. But it’s been with the same person. Even if they weren’t doing “boyfriend,” that had to count for something, right? Sebastien had been a recurring guest star in the drama of David’s life for much longer than most, or probably anyone, really. So he wasn’t always a dream, but he was still there.

Looking directly into his own eyes, he asks himself if that was what he wanted. Did he want someone that stuck around for dubious reasons? Was that enough if he was always second guessing if - no, _when_ \- they would leave if he stopped saying ‘yes’? Even last night, when Sebastien had been drunk and handsy, David had nearly said ‘no’. But if he said no, he knew he’d spend the night alone. And maybe even sex he wasn’t necessarily in the mood for was better than not having the option to fuck because nobody was around? He’s still not sure, but he knows he’ll feel the aftermath of Sebastien’s ferocity all day.

As he reaches for the light switch, he wonders what it might be like to have someone want to slowly take him apart, to learn the specifics of his body and his desires, rather than so often finding himself along for the ride… _ha!_... as someone else took their pleasure from him. 

\- - - - -

David follows Sebastien through the labyrinthian course of the exhibition, mentally assessing how _incorrect_ it all is. There’s no flow to the display, the photos aren’t cohesive collections to tell a story, nor are they arranged in a way that at least makes sense aesthetically. He nods at the appropriate times while Sebastien expounds on the importance of his work and the meaning of it all, thinking that if he were to do a definitive ranking of all the pretentious, bullshit-spouting artists he’d ever worked with Sebastien would easily be in the top three.

“Don’t you agree, David?” Sebastien asks pointedly, staring David down.

David makes a sweeping gesture toward the nearest image. “How could I not?” 

Sebastien looks pleased. His eyes wander slowly around the room, then land back on David. “Let’s go out. I want to consecrate this pivotal juncture in our sojourn.”

“Sure,” David sighs. The last thing he wants to do the night before opening an exhibition is go clubbing all night and, if recent trends have shown him anything, wake up unable to recall what had occurred during the _celebration_. “‘Where to?” 

“La Grenouille?” Sebastien suggests.

David nearly stumbles on his next step, he’s so surprised. La Grenouille is the kind of restaurant he dreams about going to, with the over-the-top floral arrangements and mood lighting, it was always listed at the top of “most romantic restaurants” in Manhattan - the kind of place David never had a reason, or a chance, to go. He hopes he sounds sufficiently casual, “Really? Like… a date night?” 

Sebastien gives him what might pass as a genuine smile. “Can you obtain a table for us tonight?”

David doesn’t care who he has to throw money at or how much, they’re going to get a reservation at La Grenouille.

\- - - - -

David takes a deep breath, inhaling the fragrant scent of the bouquet at the center of their table. He’s putting his best effort into staying calm and keeping a pleasant expression on his face. Despite being in a beautiful restaurant, having just enjoyed some of the best escargot he’s ever had, and sitting across from a shockingly well-dressed Sebastien, David is about to lose his shit. 

He had such high hopes for the evening and for a little while, he’d let himself believe that it might just turn out the way he imagined. Sebastien showed up on time, looking like he’d just stepped out of a Dior cologne ad - impossibly sexy, but just enough tousled to still make sure everyone knew he didn’t give a fuck. He’d even brought a single flower - a deep purple, perfectly blooming rose that he’d been holding between his teeth when David had answered the door. David had been delighted when he opened doors for him and caught him in a kiss that nearly took his breath away when they’d gotten into the back of the Town Car David had reserved for the night. 

Upon arrival at La Grenouille, which was everything David wanted it to be, things had started to unravel a little. He would have been able to overlook the waiter flirting with Sebastien and even Sebastien flirting back, because he got it. Sebastien was hot and the waiter, who introduced himself as Brody, was cute in that predictable Upper East Side Prep School kind of way. 

He may have been a little jealous Brody hadn’t even given him a second look, but okay, so Brody preferred disheveled rebels to perfectly put-together pretty boys. Whatever. Sebastien ordered expensive wine and dove into the amuse bouche with no inhibitions, monologuing about his visions for the outcome of his photography exhibit for his own career and possibly the gallery, like he was doing David a favor by agreeing to show his work there.

David nods intermittently, sipping his wine and slowly eating his lobster bisque, and reminding himself that date night is about both of them and Sebastien is excited and he should be supportive. Just as he was about to ask Sebastien a question and try to start a conversation they could both participate in, not only was Brody back for more, but he had brought a friend, a bus boy who is apparently also an art critic for some underground indie art publication. 

The friend, Trey, drops down into a seat next to Sebastien and asks if he has time for a few quotes about his upcoming show. David checks his phone again and again, watching the minutes tick by and new courses arrive as Sebastien chats with this person without once mentioning David, not even in reference to the gallery. 

David inhales like he’s in yoga and tries to let go all of the negativity he’s feeling on the exhale. The flowers smell lovely. The food is delicious. The night isn’t over; everything is fine. Trey finally stands up and announces he’ll be sure to follow up with Sebastien at the exhibit. David gives him a very tight-lipped, half-assed smile and pops a bite of asparagus and fava bean puff pastry into his mouth to keep from saying something to Sebastien he’ll regret. 

“I am feeling a sense of… exaltation.” Sebastien says, grasping his wine glass and clinking it against David’s. “To us.”

David can’t stop the smile that lights up his face. That sounds more than slightly promising, and he can work with that. “To us.”

They have no sooner finished their drinks and Brody is hovering again. His attention to Sebastien is rewarded with that predatory gaze David has become familiar with. He can feel his stomach clench when Sebastien reaches for Brody’s wrist.

“I’d love to photograph you sometime…” Sebastien starts.

Brody is already agreeing before anything else is said. “ _Fuck._ Yes. I would lo- _love_ that.”

The wolfish grin plays across Sebastien’s lips, “Do you object to nudity?” 

“No. I’ll … I’ll do that for you.”

Sebastien takes the pen from Brody’s pocket and pushes Brody’s oxford shirt sleeve up just enough to write his phone number across his wrist. “You can let me know when you have time.”

“I get off in five minutes,” Brody tells him, eagerly.

Sebastien whips the napkin off his lap and throws it across his plate. “Meet me by the front door.”

David’s jaw drops as he watches Brody dart off, already untying his apron. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he hisses, trying to keep his voice low enough to not disturb the other diners.

“David. You know that art presents itself in happenstance. I can’t deny an opportunity.” He leans in to kiss David’s pursed lips. “Tomorrow night.”

David stares incredulously at Sebastien’s back as he walks away and is greeted at the door by Brody, who follows him out. He drains his wine glass and what was left of Sebastien’s and waves another waiter over. He’s going to have dessert, because Sebastien’s not here to tell him not to.

\- - - - -

“Are you going to hide in here all night?” Ruby inquires from the doorway to David’s office.

He looks up at her from his desk, “Do you need me?”

“Nah. Just checking since you’re normally much more… participatory,” she says in a way that he thinks sounds a little like an accusation. “And I mean, you literally blew up our calendar and client list to make this happen, soooo…”

“Don’t remind me,” he mumbles and hopes she can’t hear him. “I’ll make my rounds in a few.”

She stands there a moment longer, like she has more to say, then decides against it and closes the door before she walks away.

David sighs, letting his head fall into his hands. He’s sure he knows all the things she almost said and somehow it’s worse that she didn’t. He didn’t need her to tell him that Sebastien’s been a haute couture art house lothario all night, effectively seducing everyone who crosses his path or that he sets his sights on. And right behind him, every step of the way, has been Brody. Brody whose photographs are now hanging in the displays David can only assume were originally intended for the images of him. He is far more acquainted with the details of Brody’s body - including a very tacky dragon tattoo well below his navel - than he ever wanted to be and is doing his best to not think about how familiar Sebastien may be as well. 

He’s been systematically working his way through destroying the prints of himself. He sent two of them through the shredder, spilled India ink into a spectacular Rorschach-esque design on another, caught one more under the tread of his boots and ripped it apart with vicious kick steps. Two more remain and he’s debating what method to use on them. He briefly considered lighting a fire and tossing in the pieces, but that seemed a little too risky, especially with all the people currently in the building.

The two remaining images are increasingly hard for him to look at, the longer they stay in front of him. He can finally acknowledge has let far too many people take advantage of him in the past, but there’s something about this that feels like … a violation. His morals may be questionable on his very best day, but there are some things that are non-negotiable, and the act of consent is an absolute for him. 

His eyes are closed in one shot and open in the other, and the worst part for him is that both pictures give off the vibe that the subject could very well be dead. He grabs a pair of scissors and begins making ribbons out of the image with his eyes closed. There’s something satisfying about the way the scissors slips through the high quality photo paper, both the sound and the ease of the motion. If he has to face this part of himself, at least there’s something therapeutic about it. He stops on the next slice across his chest and cuts a jagged shape in the middle. The roughly heart-shaped piece of the photo flutters from the scissors and falls to the floor. He looks at it, lying in his shadow and doesn’t pick it up.

\- - - - -

David pauses outside the door of Sebastien’s studio, giving himself a moment to pull the chaotic feelings ricocheting around inside him together and tamp them down. He’d seen Sebastien leave the gallery while he had been supervising clean up after the show. He hadn’t noticed if anyone was with Sebastien, but he assumed that was more self-preservation of not wanting to know than actual observation. He’d texted Sebastien to let him know he’d meet him here, to give him the preliminary sales figures, which much to David’s surprise were fairly high. Not enough to make up for the two shows he’d lost to give Sebastien the exhibition, but definitely more than he would have anticipated for a lesser-known photographer.

He knocks and waits, fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweater. When he doesn’t hear an invite to come inside, he wonders if Sebastien had decided to go somewhere to fete his big night and didn’t tell him. He reaches for the doorknob and has barely made contact, when he realizes it’s not locked. 

As soon as he steps into the cavernous space, he can hear the echoes bouncing off the walls. He knows those sounds. He walks rapidly to the back corner where the mattress he’d rather not remember is located, getting angrier with every step. He passes the folding divider Sebastien throws his clothes over and there they are. Sebastien’s got that fucking waiter pinned to the fucking mattress, buried balls-deep and biting at his shoulder blades. 

Sebastien seems to feel David’s hostile gaze and turns toward him, looking pleased. “David. Will you be observing or joining?”

He wants to shout that he’ll be _fucking leaving_ , but he can’t do it. He can’t throw a fit and walk out and prove everyone that’s ever called him “ _overdramatic_ ” right. He decides to ignore what’s going on in front of him, despite the fact his lungs seem to be putting up a fight on functioning correctly and he’s absolutely sure his stomach has tied itself into some kind of complicated sailor’s knot. 

Brody is whining under Sebastien, begging him to start moving again. Sebastien gives him a quick slap on the side of his hip and tells him to be patient. He directs his attention back to David, “So, why are you here?”

“I told you I was going to come over…” David clears his throat, trying to speak with some semblance of calm and authority. “I thought you’d want to know your sales totals for the night.”

Sebastien makes a dismissive face. “I’m insulted you think that my concerns are financial. You know it’s not about the money, David. My work deserved to be witnessed by the masses.”

“Yeah, it’s the _art._ ” Brody groans, trying to push himself further back against Sebastien. 

“ _Oh my god_.” David throws his hands up, unable to stay any longer. “We’ll talk about this more… later.”

“Does the situation necessitate that, though?” Sebastien asks, pulling away from the body writhing on the mattress and reaching for a sheet to wrap around his waist, as if David hadn’t seen (licked, sucked, deepthroated, been fucked by) it all before. He takes a few steps toward David as Brody scrambles for a pillow to cover himself, like he hadn’t let everyone at the gallery see his dick in a series of photographs earlier in the night.

David raises an eyebrow, “What do you mean, Sebastien?”

Sebastien gives an apathetic shrug. “I think we’ve arrived at an impasse. We are no longer advantageous to one another, why would we need to extend this affiliation?” 

“Ad-advantageous?” 

“What did you suppose we were doing, David?” Sebastien tilts his head, appearing legitimately curious as to what David could have possibly imagined their relationship might be.

“I thought we were seeing each other!” he shouts, no longer caring about being “overdramatic.” 

“We saw each other. We shared some sensational encounters. What more do you want, David?”

David’s eyes are wide in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable. I thought… you…” He trails off, unsure of how he intended to finish that sentence. Thought he liked him? Thought he wanted him? It wasn’t like he didn’t know he was being used, but he hoped it was… more than that. 

“David, you’re embarrassing yourself. This was not a relationship. We were never " _exclusive,_ ”” Sebastien says, in a tone one might use when speaking to a small child, and adding air quotes. “You are not the type that a person chooses for themselves.” 

“Then what _am_ I, Sebastien?” He hates himself for even posing the question. He doesn’t want an answer. He doesn’t need to be told again that he’s not the right type, not the one that anyone would ever choose. 

Sebastien sighs. “You are a fever, David. You burn hot and fast and want to consume everything about whomever you’ve attached yourself to. You are desperate and excessive and yet, somehow _still_ impossibly insecure. But fucking you _almost_ balanced those vexations. Temporarily, at least.”

David staggers back, away from him. He wants to yell about what a fucking awful human Sebastien is and that his fucking photography isn’t nearly as impressive as he thinks it is. But he’s watching Brody wrap himself around Sebastien and nibble on his earlobe and it doesn’t matter. None of it fucking matters. He turns on his heel and strides out of the studio, determined not to fall apart until he’s well outside.

He slams the door shut and walks across the sidewalk to the street, taking one step too far and narrowly avoiding sprawling across the hood of a cab. He takes the serendipitous arrival time as a sign, even if it also seemed like the universe was trying to finish what Sebastien had started, and slides into the backseat. He gives the driver his address and wills himself to hold it together until he gets home.

He closes his eyes and thinks that if he listened closely enough, he might actually be able to hear his heart breaking.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to TrueIllusion for the betaing! And thank you to fairmanor and *everyone* who helped me with some of the particulars.


	5. somewhat damaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Now with 100% more Patrick Brewer!)

_Sebastien Raine._

David wonders if it’s actually possible for blood to run cold. He almost shivers from the ice that seems to have suddenly formed in his veins at the mention of his name. 

Alexis snarks about the mall pretzels and multiple viewings of "Bridget Jones’ Diary" and he is right back there, on the couch in his sprawling apartment, shrouded in darkness and surrounded by expensive blankets that he probably ruined with his tears and just couldn’t care. No matter how much attention he tried to pay to the giant screen of the television, he’s just staring without really seeing and he couldn’t hear a thing Renee Zellweger was saying over the echoes of Sebastien’s words in his head. 

_You are a fever. Desperate and insecure. Not the type of person someone chooses._

He snaps back to the present when his mother’s voice cuts through the memories, saying, “He’s coming here.” 

\- - -

David walks away from the conversation feeling lightheaded and more than a little nauseous, and is grateful to be able to escape to work. The short trek and the fresh air are welcome this morning. The weight of his mother’s news hung too heavily over his head in the motel. How is it possible that just as everything starts to go right, the worst person in his past somehow manages to not only resurface, but infiltrate some part of his current world?

As the old general store - and future Rose Apothecary - comes into view, he thinks it has to be because he was too close to being happy. Something he wanted, something that could fulfill him was _almost_ within reach, and that wasn’t how things worked for him. He could _see_ what he wanted -- building a thriving retail space with his very recently acquired business partner, a couple of real friends, and maybe some sort of romantic relationship -- but he didn’t get to just _have_ it. 

He pauses on the stoop and takes a deep breath before he opens the door. He’s got too much to do to focus on Sebastien’s impending arrival. Sebastien may have broken part of him all those years ago, left him in pieces and unable to cope with the aftermath of whatever it was they had, but this is different. He’s different now. 

\- - -

“David…”

He turns to look at Patrick, who is absentmindedly petting an alpaca throw that’s draped over his arm and looking at David with something that might be … concern? “Yeah?”

“I know it’s probably none of my business and you can totally tell me that it’s not, but… are you … okay? You seem a little ... off-kilter today..” Patrick’s voice is soft, lacking the usual teasing tone that colors almost everything he says.

David is caught off-guard by the fact that Patrick has not only noticed his more-than-slightly frantic energy but is also troubled enough by it to check in with him. “No, you’re… fine. I just, um, found something out this morning that has made me a little… anxious.” 

Patrick nods to show he’s listening. “Do you... do you want to talk about it?”

David considers the possibility for a moment. Patrick seems legitimately interested, like he weirdly always does when David has something to say. He thinks he can call Patrick a friend at this point and the chances are high of him being more anxious than average with this new development a black cloud over him. So, maybe? “I was… informed that someone I hoped to never have to see again will be coming to town. Soon.”

“Okay. I’m sorry, that’s … that sucks.” Patrick looks like he wants to say more or maybe ask something, but stops himself. 

“Yeah.” David wonders how much information he should volunteer. Historically speaking, less was always better, but Patrick apparently possesses some rubber band-esque ability to take in whatever David has to say and adjust without ever getting bent out of shape. “He was my… I mean, we kind of… He’s my ex. He’s a photographer and wants to work with my mom. Now. For some reason.”

“Oh. How do you feel about … all that?” Patrick asks, cautiously.

David fidgets with the nearest bottle. “Not… not great?”

“Is there anything I can do?” 

David bites his lip at the “let me fix this” expression on Patrick’s face, the same one he gets any time David complains about something or really even mentions anything that is vexing him. He’s sure he doesn’t deserve this competent, thoughtful friend, but he’s thankful for him anyway. “No. Well, just… don’t mind me. Like, it’s... just... Don’t think it’s you. Because it’s not.”

Patrick gives him the barest hint of a smile. “I never mind you, David.”

David looks away, fixing his gaze elsewhere before he says, “Thank you.”

\- - -

David steps out of his room, bag in hand, ready to go to work and start another day of setting up the store and bantering back and forth with Patrick. He’ll never call himself a morning person, but he does find it marginally easier to get up now that he has something to look forward to. Watching his vision come together in the form of Rose Apothecary has been satisfying in a way he’s not sure he’s ever felt before. It feels… real and meaningful. 

A car pulling into the motel parking lot catches his eye and his breath hitches. He can only make out the general shape of the driver, but that’s enough. He walks rapidly toward the motel office, he doesn’t want Stevie to be on her own when Sebastien walks in. He doesn’t even want to imagine what would happen if Sebastien decided to try some of his well-practiced lines on her. He knows Stevie can take care of herself, but he also knows firsthand that nothing prepares someone for Sebastien Raine. 

And if he’s being honest with himself - which is still a fairly new phenomenon- he doesn’t want to be alone with Sebastien, either. He flings open the door to the office, counting on her presence to keep him from completely spiraling.

\- - -

Standing face to face with Sebastien, his hands on David’s face, practically sharing air with him, brought several things into startling clarity for David. First, Sebastien was still really fucking attractive and that was infuriating to all the hopes David had hung on Sebastien’s terrible karma catching up with him in some physical way. Second, Sebastien possessed perhaps the most soulless eyes he’d ever found himself gazing into. He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it before - although he also wasn’t sure he’d known what Sebastien’s eye color even was prior to this moment. Maybe it was because they’d never taken the time to look at each other quite so intensely as they were in the middle of the tiny motel lobby, or that in the past, David wouldn’t have known what light looked like in someone’s eyes. His mind inexplicably strays to Patrick and the way his honey brown eyes were always warm and mischievous in a way that drew David in and made him feel something akin to comfortable far more often than he would ever readily admit.

Patrick. He needs to get to the Apothecary. He needs to get away from Sebastien and his insinuations that ‘healthy’ is an insult and bravery is sarcastic and his innuendo-laced suggestions of “catching up” and “unfinished business.”

He doesn’t notice anything he’s passing on the way into the center of town, as he tries to work out - work through the onslaught of memories. The days - fuck, the weeks - after he’d left Sebastien and … whatever that guy’s name was… and gone home, sick and devastated. He’d retreated completely, ignoring calls from Alexis, letting Ruby take on more and more responsibilities that weren’t hers until she was drowning in everything David had given up on and she told him she was going to quit. He’d pulled himself together enough to manage a few hours a day at the gallery and then straight back to his apartment, unwilling to engage with anyone he did not absolutely have to. He’d thought about going out and fucking everyone who was willing, as if he could prove that someone would choose him, but he knew it would only be for the night and Sebastien would have been right. And he couldn't do that to himself again.

He finds himself standing at the entrance to the store, unsure how he arrived there in what seemed like no time. The lights are already on and he sees Patrick at the register, carefully unpacking a box and taking inventory. He pulls the door open and immediately breathes easier when he sees Patrick turn in his direction, smiling.

“Morning, David.”

“Hi…”

Patrick pauses, setting down his pen and gently pushing the box to the side. “Is it… today?”

David tilts his head, not sure how to interpret that. Of course it’s _today._ What other day would it be? “What … what do you mean?”

“He’s here, isn’t he? That guy you don’t want to see?” His eyes ask the questions even louder than his actual words do. 

David is startled. How could he possibly know that? “...Yes?”

“You think he’ll come by here?”

 _Fuck._ David hadn’t even thought about that. He briefly contemplates the likelihood of Sebastien stepping into this space. He hates the idea of seeing him in the store, making himself a part of this place that David was so carefully cultivating as a sanctuary of good taste and an ideal retail experience. With Sebastien wrapped up in whatever he wanted from Moira, though, it seemed unlikely he’d take time to bother with checking up on David, especially if he was anticipating a late-night hook-up. 

David shakes his head, not entirely convincingly. “I doubt it?”

“You know… you know you’re not alone here, right?” Patrick asks, taking a few small steps closer to David.

David unconsciously rolls his shoulders back, standing straighter, taller, bolstered by the current of confidence that zipped up his spine from Patrick’s support. He’s not sure why, but for some reason he believes Patrick would help him if he needed it. He realizes he’s tucked a little smile off to the side before he can stop it. He knows he should thank Patrick, but he needs something answered first. “How did you know?”

“I… I just…you... I notice… “ Patrick stammers as his cheeks turn pink. 

David is curious what he’d possibly be blushing about, but even if he doesn’t understand it, he still finds it endearing somehow. 

“You just looked a little tense,” Patrick blurts out, like they were the only words he could come up with.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” David tells him. “I think I’m going to work in the back today. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah, of course,” Patrick says. “If you need… anything, just let me know.”

David gives him a nod and pulls the curtains apart, setting his bag on top of a stack of boxes. He thinks, not for the first time, that attentive, considerate Patrick Brewer must make an excellent boyfriend. 

\- - -

David sighs. He can’t let this happen. He’s going to have to be the one that fixes this somehow. He’s not going to let Sebastien make a mockery of his mother for the world to see. He got to have his own moment in the gallery that night, destroying the photos of himself that Sebastien had taken and intended to display, knowing Sebastien didn’t care enough to release whatever other photos of David there might be later. But for some reason, Sebastien had set his sights on Moira now and was ready to exploit her and expose her to the world for his own gain. 

He knows Sebastien is taking advantage of her and her unending desire for attention. He also knows that if those photos are sold, Moira will retreat to the closet and there will be no coaxing her out. It’s only a matter of deciding that he’s going to take care of and not what he’ll do. There’s only one option and he doesn’t like it, but he knows it will work, because Sebastien Raine is nothing if not predictable in his penchants and vices. 

He goes to his closet and pulls out his most reliable accessories of seduction: a well-fitted black tee, black skinny jeans, and the leather jacket. He knows how he looks in these pieces and put all together, the result is practically weaponized. He’s absolutely aware of the overall effect on his features and demeanor, and that’s exactly what he’s going to need.

\- - - 

The shower water is getting cooler with every passing second while David quickly rinses off the third round of soap, as if he can permanently erase Sebastien’s fingerprints from his skin. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel after, and honestly, he’s pretty proud of himself. He wants the physical evidence gone for good, but otherwise, he’s really kind of … smug, maybe? He held it together when it mattered. He stepped up and used the one thing he’d been accused of being good at to his advantage, to save his mother from being humiliated. 

He’s done with Sebastien now and he knows that. He’d thought seeing him might break him again, but it didn’t. He may always be somewhat damaged from everything that happened during those months they were together-ish, but he didn’t fall apart when Sebastien touched him. He didn’t give in when Sebastien tried to push him to his knees or guide him to the mattress. Wearing that leather jacket like armor, he’d pushed back, unwilling to let Sebastien take control so easily. His resistance seemed to serve as some sort of aphrodisiac for Sebastien, making him wild and needy. He’d tangled his fingers in Sebastien’s hair - that had always been off-limits before - tugging and directing him where to go and how long to stay. As Sebastien swallowed around him, he’d decided that may he would stay, _should_ stay. And later, when Sebastien was biting the dirty motel pillow as David snapped his hips against the curve of Sebastien’s ass, he knew he could call this a win for himself, too. 

\- - -

There’s a cup of coffee and an assortment of sweeteners and some little containers of creamer scattered on the cash counter next to a muffin when David arrives at the Apothecary. 

Patrick appears from the back as the bell jingles, alerting him someone has arrived. He smiles as soon as he sees it’s David. “Hi. I… uh… I brought you a muffin. And coffee. I know you drink coffee, but I don’t know how, uh, you prefer it. So I got a little of everything. I hope that’s good. I wasn’t sure how your evening went and just in case it was rough, I thought… you know, a muffin might help.”

David grins, just enough to flash his dimple, and he swears he sees Patrick grab the edge of the counter to steady himself, but figures it has to be his imagination. “Good morning, and thank you. I appreciate the muffin and the coffee.” 

“So, are you… okay? You seem… pretty good?” Patrick asks, watching intently as David pours every available packet of sweetener into his coffee. 

David swirls the coffee in his cup, “Yeah, I am. It was… not as bad as I thought it would be.” 

“Oh, good. I thought about you last night…” Patrick freezes, looking panicked for a second, and tries to recover as quickly as possible. “I mean, I wondered about you. How things were going. For you. And your mom. Your mom is good, right?”

“She’s fine. Thank you for checking,” he says, taking a sip of his well-doctored coffee. It’s not a caramel macchiato, but it will do. 

“I’m glad everything worked out alright.”

David gives an affirmative nod. “I think it just might.”

\- - -

David is trembling. On the mismatched sheets of a borrowed bed, he can barely breathe, but he thinks - in what might be his last lucid thought - that he’s never felt quite this _good_ before. He’s been sprawled out naked in plenty of places, some he can remember and some that he can’t, on the verge of an out-of-body experience from whatever combination of drugs he’d done. But this is… this is wholly extraordinary. 

His breathing is ragged, heavy pants and gasps, and he can’t control the sounds that are escaping the back of his throat, pulled from somewhere deep inside he’s sure he didn’t know existed until tonight. He didn’t know a lot of things before he crashed into the mattress in Stevie’s apartment, the solid, warm weight of Patrick’s body on his. He’s learned so much in the last few hours, about himself, about Patrick... about what being _wanted_ really feels like. 

He was well acquainted with lust and the sense of urgency to have someone skin-to-skin and everyone is in agreement about what parts go where. But now, stretched out and grasping at the white headboard, he knows he can never go back to nights like that. He would trade a thousand wild nights of bite marks and bruises and porn-worthy blowjobs from people whose names he won’t remember after they walk out the door for an hour of the curious, deliberate, and _very_ thorough exploration Patrick is currently conducting. 

He’d suspected that Patrick’s meticulous nature would translate well in bed, but he had also figured that Patrick might be cautious and hesitant when they finally found an opportunity to really … _connect_ . And _fuck,_ had he been wrong. As locking it up and kissing became a horizontal activity and hands had begun roaming and hurriedly removing clothing, Patrick had enthusiastically met him at every turn. 

David had been nearly ecstatic to finally give Patrick the time and attention he’d been desperate to for weeks, sweeping his eyes slowly over the expanse of his pale skin before taking him in his mouth and giving what he hoped was the best head of his life. Based on Patrick’s responses, he felt pretty certain he’d succeeded. He’d swallowed and situated himself -- chin on his arms folded over Patrick’s hip -- looking up at Patrick’s chest heaving and admiring the flush that had spread over his face and halfway down his torso. He’d been shocked when Patrick had reached for him, pulling David fully on top of him, wrapping his arms around him and kissing him deeply, even as his taste lingered on David’s tongue.

Patrick seems to have been made bold by his release, rolling David over and kissing along his jawline, telling him how _fucking good_ he was and that he had been dreaming of this.

David chuckles and asks, “Dreaming of blowjobs? Or just your first time with a man?”

Patrick stops nibbling on David’s earlobe, and turns to face David, looking him in the eye. “I wasn’t _not_ dreaming of those things, but I meant… this. Uninterrupted time. Being with you. Having you all to myself. The other stuff is just a bonus.”

David’s heart skips and stutters, overwhelmed by Patrick’s words and the intensity of his gaze. He slides his hand around the back of Patrick’s neck, bringing their lips together in a fierce kiss. He didn’t know how long this could last, but in that moment he knew he’d do whatever he could to keep Patrick close.

He lets out a shaky moan, trying to focus solely on the way Patrick’s lips are brushing over his skin, giving him goosebumps and making him wish he could live here, like this forever. The light, dry kisses and the gentlest of nips are leaving a trail of ghost heat in their wake, warmth that lingers after Patrick has moved to his next destination. David thinks that if he keeps going, there will be no part of him that Patrick hasn’t touched by the end of the night and that may be the very thing he’s wanted most, ever. 

“God, David… I… _fuck_ …” Patrick’s voice has a note of disbelief and awe that sounds like David feels. “You’re _perfect_.” 

David knows he’s incorrect, that he’s got it all wrong. The only thing perfect here is Patrick and his tender touches and the desire to learn everything he can about David. He’s going to know more about David from this one night than every one of David’s past sexual partners combined. This feeling, right now, quivering under the slip of Patrick’s hands over his skin, makes him think that he never really knew what being _wanted_ was about. Sure, he’d been flattered by someone yanking off his clothes and reaching for him in a frenzy, but the intentional way that Patrick is studying him and cataloging each discovery shows him that he had no idea. This was what he’d been missing, what he’d been waiting and hoping for for so long.

David draws his fingertips along the side of Patrick’s face and he leans into David’s touch. He wishes he was better at saying the right thing or just saying something at all with the apparent ease Patrick made confessions. He wants to show Patrick … _give_ Patrick everything, as if that would even begin to balance out what Patrick has already shared with him. This kind of deficit is unfamiliar, but welcome, wanting to return what has already been so freely given, instead of being the one who gave until he was empty and still ended up alone.

Patrick wraps his hand around David’s length, causing David to tense in sudden fear that he is far closer to tumbling over the edge than he wants to be. Patrick immediately pulls his hand away, “I’m sorry! I should …”

“No! No, no, no. Do not apologize!” David cuts him off, grasping his shoulder in reassurance. “You’re good. You’re _very_ good. Too good, even.”

Patrick raises an eyebrow, quizzically. “Too good?”

“I just want you to have time to do… try… anything you want. And, uh, I was just... um… made aware your … timeline may be… shorter than I was anticipating. If you kept doing… _that_ ,” David explains, both embarrassed and thrilled at the way Patrick’s attention was affecting him. 

Patrick’s face lights up with a smug smile when he realizes what David is saying. “Are you saying I should stop?”

David shakes his head quickly. “Nope. Definitely do not stop. Do with me what you will.”

“Does that mean I can do _anything_?” Patrick asks coyly, waiting for David’s reaction.

A short-lived panic flares in the back of David’s mind, triggered by too many outrageous and occasionally demeaning past requests, but is quelled immediately by Patrick’s teasing grin. “That means you can _ask_ for anything and I am open to negotiating,” David tells him.

Patrick’s hand returns to David’s cock in a loose grip. He gives David a few languorous strokes. “What if I wanted to make you come… and then just… hold you for a while?”

David shuts his eyes tightly, wondering if there will ever be a time where everything about this man stops surprising him. He hopes not. He wants to continue to be amazed by everything about him, for as long as he can. He glances at Patrick, “If that’s what you want…”

Patrick leans down to kiss him. “I want you, David.” He beams at the shy smile David gives him. “This for now… and I may have a few other ideas for later,” he says, with the saddest excuse for a wink David has ever seen.

“I’m all yours.”

And he knows he is. In a way he’s never been sure of about anything, he knows.

\- - -

_Sebastien Raine._

David looks again at the link Alexis sent him. He’s not surprised to see that Sebastien is caught in the middle of a scandal with some of-the-moment social media star. 

“What is it, David?” Patrick drops his chin on David’s shoulder, glancing toward his phone.

“Alexis sent me a story about someone…” It occurs to him that Patrick already knows about Sebastien, at least in an abstract sense. “It’s an article about Sebastien.”

Recognition flickers in Patrick’s eyes. “Oh. Are you alright?”

Seeing his name doesn’t bother David, not in the way it did in the past. He’s basically content with the way the things ended last time he’d seen Sebastien. In fact, now that he’s thinking about it, he doesn’t even remember the last time Sebastien crossed his mind. He’s so far removed from David’s reality now, he only exists as a dark spot in a sea of shadowy memories from someone else’s life. He thinks this is progress. Sebastien may have done a number on him once upon a time, but he’s not that desperate, broken disaster anymore. 

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” David says, “I think it’s so odd that he still just .... lives in the world I left behind. I forget sometimes now that all of those people and things used to be my world, too.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Patrick asks, gently.

David weighs the truth, the whole story, against his desire for Patrick to know him like no one else ever has or will. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Everything about that time of my life was a bad decision. Just poor life choices. And he was one of the worst. I knew he was using me and I just kept letting it happen because I needed the validation. I needed to know that someone could... would be with me at least for a while. But in the end… He told me, among other things, that I wasn’t the kind of person that anyone would choose.”

Patrick closes his eyes, hoping to contain the sadness he feels for David and the hurt he’s carried for so long. He opens them and catches David’s gaze as he grabs his hands, slipping his fingers through David’s. “I choose you, David. I choose you every day. Because I can. Because I _want_ to. From the very beginning, and today, and tomorrow and for the rest of our lives, I choose you.”

David blinks back at him, breathless as he always is when Patrick says something so easily and with such conviction that it knocks the air from his lungs. How is it possible that this is his life? He’s made terrible decisions in his past, and has more regrets than he can name, but rather than a lifetime of consequences, he somehow has… Patrick. 

\- - - -

David looks at the four gold bands in the velveteen box he’s holding in his shaking hands. Is it really possible that someone wants him like this… that _Patrick_ would choose him _forever_? He can’t help but ask. “Are you sure?”

“Easiest decision of my life.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU so much to everyone who read this and hung in and commented while it was a WIP. I appreciate you so, so much.
> 
> For those of you who were waiting until it was done to read, I appreciate you, too! I hope you enjoyed the completed journey.  
> 
> 
> I hope the angst was worth it in the end because we know David and Patrick get the happy ending they deserve. <3
> 
> \----
> 
> Thank you so much, TrueIllusion for all your help and catching all those freaking tense shifts. You're the best!

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Rob Thomas
> 
> Chapter titles from Nine Inch Nails
> 
> \- - - -
> 
> Kudos and comments very appreciated! I'd love to hear your thoughts on this.


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